


Ask Me Better

by romanrogers



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Marriage Proposal, merry band of assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanrogers/pseuds/romanrogers
Summary: “It’s a quirk,” Vladimir tells him. “Like how you buy shit beer and shit couches, I thought you would just find it charming over time.”“I can’t believe you are equating buying a couch you don’t like to murder,” Matt mutters to himself angrily, before lapsing into Spanish and turning back to his papers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I took a lot of cold medicine, then this happened and??? I don't even know if I properly spell checked but I am just so delirious and sick to even care. Also this came to me in a fever dream so I'm not even sure if the characterization is right but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ happy reading.

 

Matt sits, hunched over his table in his apartment, considering the papers in his hand for a moment. Vladimir is in the other room, face down and drooling all over Matt’s side of the bed and something occurs to him in that instant. Matt raises his voice loud enough that it can be heard in their bedroom, “Hey,” he shouts.

 

There’s a tell tale clicking of a gun and then Vladimir yells back, dazedly, “What?” Vladimir yells back, dazedly.

 

“Put the gun away,” Matt snorts. “You’ve been living here long enough, I can probably mark you down as dependent on me for taxes, so what’s your social security number?”

 

From the bed in the other room Vladimir groans, stuffing his face into his pillow, “My what?”

 

Matt frowns, “You don’t know what your social security number is?”

 

“No,” he bellows, voice muffled by the pillow. “Now let me sleep.”

 

“How do you pay your taxes then?” Matt asks.

 

Sighing, Vladimir removes the pillow from his face and rolls onto his stomach, “I don’t.”

 

“You don’t pay your taxes,” Matt exclaims, and then it occurs to him. “Oh my god. Am I harboring an illegal immigrant?”

 

Vladimir gets up from the bed, draping the comforter over his shoulders and walks over to sit on Matt’s couch, “Before that, _Matvey,_ you were harboring a known criminal. So-“

 

Matt lets his head thump on the table surface. “Please don’t remind me.”

 

Vladimir grunts, “If it’s such a big deal, we could just get married and get it over with.”

 

“Wha-,” Matt splutters. “Get it over with?

 

“ _Da._ was going to happen anyway, why not just do it now so I can get citizenship, and you stop nagging and let me sleep.”

 

Matt cranes his neck and stares sightlessly in Vladimir’s direction for a long time, “That is quite possibly the most _unromantic_ thing you have said to me, and you once described to me in vivid detail the perfect technique to stabbing someone.”

 

“You take that back,” Vladimir says, offended. “It was very _romantic_ , idiot!”

 

“Killing someone is not romantic,” Matt deadpans. “And neither is that proposal.”

 

“It’s a quirk,” Vladimir tells him. “Like how you buy shit beer and shit couches, I thought you would just find it charming over time.”

 

“I can’t believe you are equating buying a couch you don’t like to _murder,”_ Matt mutters to himself angrily, before lapsing into Spanish and turning back to his papers.

 

Vladimir throws a couch pillow at the back of Matt’s head, “You did not answer.”

 

“Answer what?”

 

“Marry me?” He asks.

 

“No,” Matt says petulantly. “Ask me better.”

 

“Ask you _better_? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means,” Matt drawls, “ask me better. I’m not marrying you just so that you can get citizenship, I can’t believe you don’t pay taxes, I prosecute people who go to court for tax evasion.”

 

“You also defend people going on trial for murder,” Vladimir grumbles under his breath.

 

Matt slings the pillow that Vladimir had previously thrown at him and smiles triumphantly as he hears it hit the other man’s face and he lets an affronted noise. And so the subject gets dropped, until Matt comes home one day months later and a small velvet box is chucked at his face the moment he steps through the door.

 

Matt raises his arms to block the offending object too late and the box hits him squarely in the nose with a resounding crack, “Shit,” he curses. The box drops to the ground and Matt cups his hands around his nose and sighs angrily when he feels blood drip onto his hands. Immediately the smell of chemicals and artificial fresheners hit his nose like a slap to the face and Matt is momentarily disoriented.

 

“Vladimir, what the _fuck_?”

 

Vladimir is on the other side of the apartment on his back, complaining loudly in Russian. Matt unscrews his tie and presses it up to his bloody nose and steps further into the room, sliding unsteadily across the slick floor.

 

He squints, steadying himself on the wall, “What did you do?”

 

“Grab the box, ”Vladimir moans, as he tries to get up from the floor.

 

“What did you do?” Matt repeats.

 

“Grab the box, _mudak_ ,” Vladimir groans again, more agitated this time.

 

“I’m blind and the floor is slippery. I’m not grabbing anything until I know what is happening,” he says stubbornly.

 

Vladimir staggers to his feet, rubbing his lower back, “It’s a ring,” he grunts.

 

“Why would you give me a ring? And _throw it at my face?”_

“It was accident,” Vladimir pouts.

 

Matt can hear him sliding across the floor towards Matt by the doorway and he continues to squint suspiciously.

 

“I cleaned,” Vladimir tells him, like it explains just _what_ is happening.

 

“Okay,” Matt says slowly. “… _Why_ did you clean?”

 

Vladimir mutters to himself exasperatedly, lapsing back in forth between English and Russian and then bracing himself against Matt as he reaches down to grab the box. He tucks the box under one arm and smooths out Matt’s suit jacket, takes the bunched up tie in his hands and throws it behind him in a bloody wad. Matt makes a noise of protest as more blood gushes from his nose but he is ignored, and Vladimir takes his hands and guides them to the box, opening it manually. He sends Vladimir a pissy look, removing one hand from under Vladimir’s to probe the ring.

 

It’s smooth, with small raised marks that Matt realizes after a moment more of memorizing it, is in brail. Matt tilts his head up towards Vladimir expectantly.

 

“You got asked better, so are you going to say yes or not?”

 

Matt feels his lips twitch up in a mocking smile, “I think I kind of preferred last time more.”

 

“Shut up, Matvey, just answer the question.”

 

He sighs, “I guess we should just do it now and get it over with,” Matt says imitating Vladimir’s accent.

 

Vladimir slips the ring onto Matt’s right hand and sniffs wetly. Matt pauses, “Are you… crying?”

 

“No,” Vladimir replies forcefully, wiping his face with his sleeve. “The chemicals are hurting my eyes.”

 

Matt bites his bottom lip ignoring the taste of blood and the large, goofy smile that threatens to break out across his face, “Come here.”

 

He pulls Vladimir in by the back of his neck and kisses him gently before exhaling softly with satisfaction,

 

“That is unsanitary,” Vladimir grouches, fussing at Matt’s blood smeared across his face.

 

“And _you_ just ruined the mood,” Matt retorts.

 

“There was no mood to begin with.”

 

Matt lets out a long suffering sigh, this is his life now.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr [sansaasnark](http://sansaasnark@tumblr.com) for more hijinks and random stuff!


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